~ Chapter 15: Smuggler's Run ~

Breeze watched Erasmus closely, the otter's furry round face pushed as deep in his hood as it could go. The moonlight glinted in his blue eyes, which – in the darkness of night - currently seemed only a step away from grey. The shadows obscured most of the Artificer's features, only his gentle cheekbones and shiny black nose illuminated enough for Breeze to see, the faint glisten of twitching whiskers occasionally poking free of the cave-like shroud.

The Quiet Viper loomed on a hill some distance away, and much further beyond that Breeze could make out the pulsing glow of many collective bonfires, a heady pulsing of light pollution emanating from the largest of the refugee clumps still working to flee the lost city of Niverron. While Breeze, Erasmus, and Fenton had spent their week of rest huddled in the Quiet Viper, Richeleau had used the time to scour nearby towns for rumours and news. When it came to secrets she was a better predator than Breeze could ever be, and he was glad for the help. The vulpine families now displaced by the war had been utterly shattered by the fall of Niverron, their previously stalwart faith in the Union decimated by the taking of only one city. The largest groups were all bound north, for the small satellite nations of Ustric or Nystria, respectively. Breeze couldn't blame them. If Erasmus was correct, those smaller kingdoms played no active part in the hundred, but their economies still relied on it. The wolf shook his head, climbing up from his seat and glancing around through the rain.

No escaping this war, short of going feral. He thought, biting his lip. 'Going mad' was an expression used in the northwest, a kind of endearing one aimed at formerly-civilised folk who turned tail on their life and ran to the Madlands, seeking a life of nomadic violence and freedom. One of Breeze's sandmen, Barslov, had that kind of past. Breeze wanted to laugh, and then realised that he knew more dead men than live ones.

“Sit down, they'll come." Richeleau hissed, putting a firm paw on Breeze's shoulder and pulling him back down. The group of four (plus Abigail, cradled in Erasmus's arms) were huddled at the edge of the water, the midnight breeze buffeting their fur and cloaks, snatching words right out of their maws. A hill buried in trees lay to their backs, and the sharp wind picked up the chill of the water and dumped it right in their laps. In front of them was a muddy bay with thick and gnarled roots poking free, which according to the others, would eventually lead out to a pass that could take them all the way to the ocean, if they wanted. Breeze had seen the ocean only once before, when he crossed the mountains and ventured to the far side of the Madlands. He'd been thoroughly unimpressed.

More great nothing in the sea. He thought, letting the sneering vixen pull him back down against the wagon.

“An' what if they don't aye?" Fenton whispered, rubbing his paws together. “We ain't even got a fire, we'll freeze our bloody balls off 'fore morn if yer man don't show soon."

“You want to get found?" Richeleau hissed back at him. “You don't think Lyskirk, Ferrin, and Astmoor have patrols out right now? The same bloody thing that's giving us such good cover could be what gets us killed."

Erasmus sighed, shifting Abigail in his arms. “Things are honestly so much easier when you don't talk, Fenton." That earned a glare from the Doberman, and the otter shrugged. “No offence."

“Yeah, none taken." Fenton snapped back, showing his teeth. “Breeze, you've got a head fer this – we should've a plan, case this Gunther don't show."

“Luther," Richeleau corrected, “owed Gorm a great deal. He doesn't know Gorm's roped it out, and I said this job would put him square. So, long as you can keep your fat mouth shut for a few hours, we'll be in the clear. Luther won't pass up an opportunity like that."

“He'll show." Breeze added, patting Fenton gently on the knee. “You sure he'll be able to take Marlough?" He asked the former Madame Richeleau, jerking his chin towards the horse attached to the small half-wagon at his back. The horse whinnied softly at the sound of her name.

The vixen shrugged. “Never had a problem before, there's always something that needs moving where judging eyes can't see. Sometimes it's a horse, sometimes it's a pup, he typically refrains from questions." Erasmus's eyes flicked up nervously, and he nestled Abigail a little deeper in his elbow. If Richeleau noticed, she didn't show it. “If he can't, we cut her loose, take all the gold we can carry."

“Be a shame." Breeze said, barely more than a whisper. Except for Erasmus, he probably liked Marlough the most.

“Do me bloody ears deceive!?" Fenton exclaimed, loud enough that he copped a slap on the back of his head from Richeleau, glancing to her and Erasmus. “Ow, ain't you both completely floored our Breezy has shown a might wince of a heartbeat! I dare say there still flickers a candle of northern sentimentality in our cold-blooded killer!"

“Shut up." Erasmus whined. Breeze felt the briefest touches of soothing sapping at his annoyance, and narrowed his eyes at the otter, the subtlety of the effect lost in the darkness.

He felt... something for Ras. What it was exactly was difficult to say, but the soothing made things only more muddled. On one paw, the younger otter was so gentle and caring, open-minded and welcoming of change. He carried an insight and strength to him Breeze had seen in only a few men before, and beyond all that, despite everything, he seemed to truly wish to see Breeze. To look through the mud and blood and shit clumping his fur, and expose the wolf under it all. Breeze wondered if there was much under it all to expose.

At the same time, were these feelings born because Breeze was being subtly soothed each time he was around the boy? Erasmus said folk naturally gravitated towards soothers, their minds quickly associating the pseudo-mages with good emotions, or at least the absence of negative ones (is there a difference?). Now Breeze was utterly stuck. Did he only feel for Erasmus because the boy was a soother? Or were his emotions born naturally?

But he looks so soft, and so gentle, and so warm. He'd spent hours in the Quiet Viper lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling and listening to Erasmus breathe, imagining how good it would feel to have that lithe otter form cupped against his side. Even now, allowing the thoughts to come caused a shameful stirring in his trousers, his sheath hardening as he thought on the few times he had – quietly – pawed off next to the young man, imagining what it would be like to... be with him.

The otter was even tied up, secured. He could have just reached over, and had him. He would dream of it, dwell on it, once even almost reaching for the edge Erasmus's trousers. He'd snatched his fingers away at the very last moment however, hurriedly finishing his business into his paw and immediately being flooded with shame and regret. If he started anything like that, if he entertained the idea in the real world, it would become real; and he wasn't sure he could take it if Erasmus rejected him.

“Stop soothing me." He huffed presently, standing again.

“Sorry." The otter whispered, glancing away.

“It won't kill ya to relax some Breezy." Fenton yawned, folding his paws behind his head and stretching his legs out forward.

“Says the jumpiest one all night." Richeleau muttered, pushing a small piece of dried fruit into her muzzle.

“I'm just cold is all darlin', and this wind's more than enough 'thout you bein' so frigid, I might say."

“Our ride is here." Breeze interrupted, picking up his sword and slinging it across his back. The others quickly gathered their things, as Breeze worked at strapping down every loose supply currently in the back of Marlough's wagon. When that was done he turned his attention back to the water, where a long, low kind of barge drifted towards them. It had two stubby masts poking out of the centre, though the sails were drawn in, and a half-dozen oars worked at each side. It was slow going, but with the torches snuffed and the dark wood of its build combined, it was inconspicuous.

Breeze felt trepidation claw at him, his heart beating in his throat. Save the crossing into Astmoor itself at the end of their journey, this was the choke-point. Forgetting the siege they'd accidentally wound up a part of, this moment was the most dangerous leg.

All it takes is one rogue patrol, one or two soldiers who aren't quite where they're supposed to be.

“Quit lookin' so cagey, alright? Last thing we need is Luther deciding you're a mite too twitchy for his barge." Richeleau whispered, nudging Breeze with her foot.

“There's a lot riding on this." He replied, through gritted teeth.

“I told you, Luther is one of the best. He still owes Gorm a mint, even though he's nearly made on during this pissing blockade, and is probably who the old bastard would have chosen to take you lot... if he hadn't stepped out already." She laid a slender paw on Breeze's bicep, squeezing deftly around the bandages Erasmus had given him for a shallow nick he caught escaping the siege. “Keep it to yourself, but if it makes you feel any better, his secret is a brother of his that's enlisted in the Kirkan military. Copies down patrol routes and the like, makes sure Luther gets a look of them. He'll treat us right."

Breeze frowned, crossing his arms. “If you say so then."

The barge came to a stop in the middle of the river, and Breeze saw a quick flash of light blink five times at them – slow, slow, fast, slow, fast. Richeleau hefted their own oil lantern, the shutters pulled on every side, and returned their own passcode. Breeze watched as the oars then pushed the barge toward the bank, while a small rowboat was lowered off the back. The rowboat came right for them, and Breeze made out three figures on it. Two were rowing, while the third stood dead centre, a slight flash appearing in the darkness as it lit up a pipe. The rowboat hit the shore and they stepped off, and Breeze saw the pipe-smoking figure was a squat komodo dragon, with narrow shoulders, and a tiny crossbow held low in his free paw.

“Luther." Richeleau said, stepping closer. “It's good to see you."

“Ain't much seeing to do though, is 'ere." Fenton muttered, and Erasmus elbowed him.

“So this is the lot then, Richy?" Luther exclaimed, as his two companions – a pair of burly bears – sauntered over to the wagon, checking it over. “I'd say it's good to see you too, but whenever I do, Gorm ain't far behind." He levelled the crossbow at the vixen's belly, stepping closer. In the light of his pipe, Breeze saw he had green-grey scales, and sharp yellow eyes. “Ever heard the rumour my kind can kill ya with just rot? That our maws are so fucking disgusting and filth-ridden from our foul diet jus' one nip'll give you a slow, agonising death?"

“I'm familiar." Richeleau replied tersely, eyes locked on the crossbow. “Going to kill me then Luther?" Breeze felt one of the bears stop just behind him, and he slowly laid a paw on one of the knives at his belt.

“It ain't true!" The komodo said, grinning and showing his teeth. “We got venom glands, same's any snake. But your Gorm, now, there's a broker so filled with rot and filth it'll eat you up."

“Do you have a fucking point to this?" Richeleau snapped, closing the distance even more. Her hackles wet up, and Breeze could smell the scent of her anger. “We're wasting time."

“I'm done." Luther said, eyes locked with the vixen's. “This one job, then me and that fat cunt are through."

“He's lost quite a bit of weight recently, as it was." Richeleau added. “Practically floats off the ground. But yes. This is important."

Luther threw up his claws. “Well then! You're all welcome aboard my modest vessel, she's called The Rot, ha-ha, so do with'at what you will." He leaned around, glancing at each person and the wagon. “So this's it? Four people, a wagon, a horse?"

“That's it." Breeze said, sidling up. “Just get us across."

“Oh, a northerner!" Luther exclaimed, crossbow held loosely in one claw by his side. Smoke puffed out of his nostrils. “Long way from home you are, my mad friend."

“Things are bad up there. Madness is worse than ever." It wasn't untrue. “Figured I'd try my luck down south, ain't got much to write about yet though."

“You haven't seen Lyskirk yet." Luther leered, turning away and gesturing at The Rot. “Give us a half-hour, and we'll be on our way." Breeze looked at the ship, and saw it was likely as close to the bank as it could manage. Presently a large and oversized strip of wood was being slid out into the water, a small gathering of men waddling waist-deep in the water heaving it toward the shore.

Breeze stepped away from the komodo dragon, who stunk of ale and something tangy that he couldn't quite name. Erasmus stayed close, and the two watched as Marlough was put into position, and eventually led aboard via the makeshift bridge. It was a clever and surprisingly efficient gimmick, and Breeze nodded as the horse was tied to a mast.

“I don't like him." Erasmus mumbled, shifting his weight.

“You don't like anyone with their paws, or... claws, or whatever, in law-breaking." Breeze replied. “Fact is Ras, this is how most of the world lives."

“As you say." The otter said. “I'll stick close by you, nonetheless." By the plague, it felt so good to hear. Breeze inhaled, trying to sift through the stench of river and find the calming aroma of the otter's fur.

“Are you soothing me right now?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow. Erasmus winced.

“I... didn't think so." He replied, a blush in his tone. “But sometimes it happens... accidentally."

“Huh." Breeze said, crossing his arms.

“I know you hate it. I try not to with you."

“Thank you." He wanted to add “it's alright", but quickly bit his tongue.

You're just getting confused by the magic, you damn fool. Just like his father, just like anyone else. Stop trying to find the diamonds in the shit, and forget this boy. Soon as this job is done, he'll be forgetting you.

Luther chose that moment to abandon conversation with his men, and waddled over to Erasmus and Breeze, his long black coat flapping against his knees, leather cap cocked back far on his head.

“I'll take a guess you're the drivin' force behind this here journey." The komodo said, gesturing at Breeze. He still puffed on his pipe, but the crossbow was nowhere to be seen. “It's in the way the others look at you, either that, or they're shit-scared'a ya."

“Why not both?" Breeze asked. That got a laugh.

“And this here is a pup, aye? Strange times these are." Luther asked, leaning into Erasmus. He craned his head forward, pointing a finger and making to stir the bundle of blankets swaddling the pup. Breeze's paw flashed out and caught the lizard's wrist before he made contact.

“She's sleeping." He growled. Luther met his eyes, held them a spell, then pulled away, retracting his claw. His tongue flickered out in the way reptiles were fond of doing.

“Fair 'nough." He said. “Names then."

“This is Master Breeze Czeslaw." Erasmus said, nodding at the wolf. “I am Erasmus, you already know Madame Richeleau, and that there is Goodman Fenton." He motioned at the greyhound, whom one of Luther's crew had just shoved into the mud. He was complaining about something, and Richeleau was hushing him.

“The little one?" Luther asked, eyes sliding to the bundle.

“Abigail." Erasmus answered.

“Cute name. Who's is she?"

“Does it matter?" Breeze said firmly. Luther flicked his tongue again.

“Course not. Just makin' conversation." And then he turned, slinking back toward Richeleau.

“You'll keep her safe, right?" Erasmus whispered, leaning even closer to the wolf's side. “I think he might want to eat her." The otter shuddered.

“Then I'd cut him open and pull her out." Breeze said, wincing as the joke came out a little gruffer than he'd intended. “I'll keep you both safe, don't worry." That part slipped out before he could stop it, and he slammed his jaw shut afterwards, glad the night would shroud his blush.

“In that, I am sure." Erasmus replied gently.

Once Marlough and her wagon had been stowed aboard the ship, Breeze, Erasmus, Richeleau, and Fenton were welcomed aboard. They found a place towards the back of the deck to sit, and watched calmly as the crew hauled back their bridge.

“Will we make it before morning? This is a slow ship." Breeze asked Luther.

“Only slow till we hit a decent gale. We should reach Kallen by dawn by my reckonin', and if not, I have ways of hidin' us from view." The lizard replied. “Once there it'll be smooth, we know most of the town guards, they'll let us dock no problem, getting off The Rot will be a cinch."

“Alright then." Breeze nodded, trying to pet himself at ease. “And if a patrol happens upon us?"

Luther frowned, the muscles that would normally sport eyebrows on a mammal pulling in. “They won't."

“An' what if we do?" Fenton chimed, looking around. “Things never go to fuckin' plan with us." Breeze exchanged a look with Erasmus.

Us.

“Ah, but now I am here!" Luther said, leaning over the sitting Doberman, his claws perched on his hips. “If a patrol comes, then we improvise." Fenton scowled, pulling out an arrow from his quiver and turning it in his paws.

“What are you two to do, after we reach Lyskirk?" Richeleau asked Breeze, sitting next to him and crossing her legs, a small cup of tea Luther's crew had made her clutched in one paw. “Find a small apartment in Gohdren perhaps, raise the little tyke together? Tell me, which one is the bitch in this strange coupling?"

“We're not..." Breeze started, and sighed. “Yes, you're very funny."

“You're most welcome."

“Gohdren is the main city, right? The Lyskirk capital?" He asked, and Richeleau nodded. “We'll steer clear of it I imagine, head east. One thing at a time, as an old pig I used to know would say."

“Aspirations of Alavakia, then Breeze? Quite the civilised nation, I'm told." The vixen added, slurping her tea. “Or rather fancy somewhere farther away, like Scarden, or even Wrethalia?" Breeze recognised the country names, but beyond that knew almost nothing of the places Richeleau was listing.

“Planning to follow us?" He growled.

“Our little grouping has been quite an advantageous affair so far." She explained. “Be a shame to break it up right as the going gets good."

Breeze grimaced. “I'm sure you'll manage." Richeleau smiled wanly at that, her gaze drifting away. He felt a pang of guilt for her. They weren't so separated in their lives; stuck with an overbearing boss, they'd fled their old life and built a new one. Then that too had been destroyed, and they were stuck at zero once more.

“Right then. Paw it over." Luther said, suddenly planting himself in front of Breeze.

“Excuse me?"

“Gorm's ring." Richeleau prompted.

“I ain't just taking your word my debts are through, sorry to say." Luther chuckled, tasting the air between words. “The Madame tells me he gave you 'is ring." Breeze nodded, fishing around in one of his pockets. His fingers closed around the small silver band, and he pulled it out, offering it to the komodo dragon. Luther hesitated, then snatched it away.

“You're square." Richeleau said. Luther nodded, grinning manically.

“That's right I am. Either Gorm really is settling me, or else you lot done him in – either way, I don't owe a mark." He looked back to Breeze, bowed slightly. “Pleasure doing business with you, Master Northman." And with that he trotted away.

“Thank you." Breeze said quietly, after he'd left. Richeleau shrugged.

“You saved my life, now I'm saving yours, it's a fair trade." She replied, brushing some loose fur from her eyes. “It wasn't entirely easy getting a hold of Luther, must have been difficult for you to wait cooped up in that inn."

“Something like that." Breeze replied, shifting nervously.

“I..." Richeleau began, leaning in slightly. “I'm glad you trusted me, truth is that I certainly wouldn't have in your position." Breeze said nothing to that, but his eyes flickered briefly to Erasmus. His truth was the otter had been the one to convince him.

“What will you do? After we reach Lyskirk?" Breeze whispered. Richeleau was getting closer and closer, her breath a hushed whisper in his ear.

“Oh, me?" She tittered. “I always have a way of landing on my feet, should have been born a cat. I expect I'll fall into a similar role in Gohdren as I did in Niverron. Either that, or I'll try to marry into some fabulously wealthy family, perhaps even become royalty."

“Well, if anyone--" Breeze began, but his words were cut off as Richeleau's maw met his in a kiss. He blanched, frozen in place for a moment, before realising what was happening. He put his paws up and pushed her off, wiping his muzzle.

“Apologies." Richeleau laughed, smoothing down her coat.

“You're not really my type." Breeze said.

“Oh, I am well aware my dear, don't fret." And she glanced quickly to Erasmus, who seemed to be busy staring straight up at the sails. “But still, can't blame a girl for wanting a taste of something wilder." And she grinned.

Breeze shook his head and stood.

“PATROL!" The voice was from a younger crew member, and it shocked the entire deck of The Rot into action. “PATROL! PATROL! COMIN' UP BEHIND!" The voice cried, as suddenly Luther's men were everywhere.

“Fuck." Breeze muttered, glancing around. Luther came storming past, his crossbow in claw. “What happened to knowing the patrols?!" The wolf cried, and the lizard threw his claws up.

“Things change! Blast them all!" He hissed, shoving a crewman aside and skipping toward the back of the barge.

“Breeze, what do we do?" Erasmus was there suddenly, Fenton just behind.

“I... don't know." The wolf replied, slipping his sword off his back and attaching it to his hip. He glanced at some of the smaller boats attached to the side of the ship, suddenly painfully aware they were stuck on a fragile island in the middle of a river.

“Don't even think about it." Richeleau cautioned, following his gaze, “we get in one of those and the Kirkans will shoot us full of holes. If we don't drown they'll shoot us until we do."

“We'll never outrun 'em!" A crew member cried, running back to collect a set of swords and pass them out. Breeze watched in horror as Luther dragged a huge chest onto the middle of the deck.

“What's that for?" He asked, as the lizard popped the top, pulling it back to reveal a small fortune of silver.

“A bribe. They're well-armed, we'd never fight off a ship that size." Luther snapped. “It's the only damn hope we got. You and your lot get in the corner and try to look ragged, we'll say you're refugees I took pity on. If they ask, you've a cousin in Tepplestone, it's a town to the west coast, I doubt a foreigner would know about it otherwise."

“That will work?"

“It might." The lizard admitted.

“BOARDING! THEY'RE BOARDING!" One of Luther's men cried. Breeze turned, heading back to his group and ushering them into the corner.

“Get behind me." He ordered Erasmus, and Fenton and Richeleau followed. “Just be calm."

“We could swim for it!" Fenton hissed. “Breezy?" Breeze sucked in a breath, the idea had been on his mind the entire time. But looking off either side of the boat, he couldn't see land. It could be five hundred metres; it could be five kilometres. With a pup in tow, even if the Lyskirk patrol didn't see them, they'd half as likely drown – and while Breeze could paddle he was no strong swimmer.

“No, no that's death for sure." He replied. “Stay here. Richeleau, what do the patrols do with prisoners caught crossing the blockade?"

The fox, wide eyed, jaw-open, shook her head. “Hard to tell, depends, this is an unusual circumstance! Military types get the gallows, some get turned loose back in the Union, some face the north, Ferrin ain't the only kingdom with prison camps up there."

“Okay then, nobody speak." Breeze said, looking back as he saw a small troop of foxes in leather armour stomping aboard. They held short swords and axes for the most part, and whenever they met one of Luther's placid crewmen, they'd throw them to the ground.

Luther himself stood a few metres from Breeze and his group, near the chest of silver, waiting. The Kirkan soldiers surrounded him, swords and axes raised, archers waiting on the patrol ship. In the distance, Breeze saw pale light, the signs of dawn only a few hours away.

So close. He thought, his stomach sinking.

“I don't see no good way outta this." Fenton whispered.

“Shut the fuck up." Breeze growled. “Look... displaced."

Finally, a tall, light grey fox in a flowing black tailcoat came aboard. He wore a tricorn hat accented with gold, and wore two swords at one side of his hip. He was clearly in charge, and he approached Luther immediately. The lizard waited, and eventually the fox spoke.

“Well. Smugglers." The fox said briskly. “I am Captain Estrion of the Kirkan border brigade, and I imagine you've got some adequate excuse lined up for me?"

Luther bowed his head. “No sir. Only the truth."

“Of course." The Captain sneered. Breeze felt fear and anger bubble inside him. He looked back to Erasmus and sucked in a breath.

“Refugees. They told me they had family in Lyskirk, lost their papers back in Niverron, and I believe 'em. Surely, you can show mercy at this time? It's only four." The lizard looked back, gestured at Breeze and the others. “I ain't ever done this before, probably why yous caught me. But, this is our treasury, I'd happily offer it as... a donation, to the cause."

“The cause." Captain Estrion muttered. “I know you who you are, Luther Vankerwitz. You've got the kind of name that sticks in one's mind." He waved a paw, and two soldiers lifted the chest, carrying it back toward the patrol ship. The fox looked over to Breeze and the others, and began to walk.

“Erasmus." Richeleau whispered. “Quickly, give the pup to me, they'll take pity if they think us a family."

“Er, I..." He began.

“Sorry I don't think they'll quite buy you as the mother. Hurry!" She hissed, and Breeze felt the shift as Erasmus handed the bundle to the vixen. The wolf put his paw on his sword. If they planned to kill them, then he'd at least try to get out.

“Fine looking sword." Captain Estrion said to Breeze, as he came closer.

“Was a soldier." Breeze said, trying to mask his northern accent as best he could.

“Until the walls fell? And this behind, your family?" He peered over Breeze's shoulder, and the wolf nodded.

“Aye."

“And I hear you've relatives in my great kingdom?" The Captain asked. Breeze opened his mouth and blanked. He couldn't remember exactly, what had Luther said? It all happened so fast. “Might you tell me where exactly they are located?"

Templestowe? Teffleston?

“I..." He began slowly.

“Spit it out." Estrion said. “You give me a real place; I might think to show a little... restraint."

“Tepplestone!" Breeze blurted. The Captain grinned, and Luther let out a short breath.

“Huh, that is a small town indeed." He replied, licking his lips. “And it's exactly what I was told you'd say."

Breeze frowned. “What?" He asked, as the blunt side of an axe hit the back of his knee. He crumpled with a cry, and heard yelling as Fenton and Erasmus were thrown to the ground, swords aimed at the lot of them.

“No!" Breeze hissed, as Richeleau stepped past him, Abigail clutched in her arms. “You bitch!" He snarled. He tried to lunge forward, thinking of nothing but his paws closing around her throat, but one of the soldiers grabbed him and shoved him over again. Breeze sprawled, looking up and panting as the vixen took her spot behind Captain Estrion.

“Luther always tells people to use the same cover story." She said gently. Breeze cried out as a boot connected with his jaw and he saw white. He spat blood, and two more slammed into his stomach.

“Breeze!" Erasmus cried, and the wolf snarled as he heard someone dash the otter's head against the deck.

“Why?" Breeze gasped, clutching his chest. “Why?"

“Astmoor will win this war, Breeze." Richeleau said. “And when they do, I'm going to buy my freedom with this child."

“You fucking whore!" Fenton screamed, right before the flats of two swords were clocked over his back.

“I'm sorry." She replied, shivering as Captain Estrion removed his coat, wrapping it around her shoulders.

“You've done the right thing, m'lady." He said. “They're scum, feel no pity for them, you're safe now. Men, weapons!"

Breeze pushed himself up from the deck, waiting on his paws and knees, blood dripping slowly from his snout and muzzle. He felt the point of a sword press at his neck.

Ah. Summary execution. He looked up at Richeleau, tears in his eyes. He saw her clutching Abigail tight to her breast, heard the pup's wailing cry, and felt the greatest sense of failure of his entire lifetime.

“I'm so sorry." He choked out, but the words came more as a bubbling growl.

“Wait." Richeleau said, a paw going to the Captain's chest. “My gold is in the wagon, you've Luther's earnings, his crew, and his ship. The wolf... did save my life."

“They're scum, my lady." The Captain said dully.

“True." She replied softly, like some fairy-tale maiden. “But I fear the Triumvirate would not look kindly upon a standing debt. They deserve a fighting chance, at least." The Captain considered for a moment.

“Abigail." Breeze groaned, trying to crawl towards the pup. He was barely listening, barely conscious. The Captain's boot came down on his skull, pinned his head to the deck. Estrion ground his foot against his ear, turning it back and forth as Breeze hissed in agony.

“Men!" He bellowed. “Arrest the smugglers! This lot are to be thrown overboard! Burn the ship!"

“You fucking slag!" Luther cried at Richeleau. “Nobody double crosses me!" He got a club to the face that knocked him clean out for that. Breeze felt himself hauled to his feet, boots dangling. The Captain came forward, put his paw on the sword Claude had given him.

“A nice thing indeed." He whispered, drawing it and passing it to one of his men.

“Damn you." Breeze mumbled, barely fighting as he was dragged to the ship's railing. He saw Fenton kicking and protesting as they up ended him, the dog flailing as he went over, a deep splash sounding as he hit the black water.

“No, no-please! Breeze, Breeze help!" Erasmus wailed as he too was lifted up. Breeze's chest seized as he saw the true panic written in the otter's expression. He thrashed in place, but the two men holding his battered body were far too strong. He saw Erasmus accidentally clip one of the soldier's with a boot, and the fox came back with a mailed punch straight to Erasmus's brow. The young man's cries died out and he sagged in the soldiers' grip. Breeze cried out as he realised the otter had been knocked out, his limp body flopping over the railing like a corpse as they pushed him off.

He'll drown!" Breeze cried out, kicking uselessly as he was shoved against the railing. The Captain shrugged as he walked over, Breeze's sword in one paw, a short knife in the other.

“The lady has made me rich, and so I oblige her by giving you a fighting chance." Behind him a fire had already begun to burn through The Rot's hull, as the soldiers tossed bottles of whiskey with lit rags tucked into their necks. “But I've never been one for a fair fight." And he stabbed Breeze in the stomach, just above his waistline. The pain was blinding, and Breeze wheezed as the blade slid out and his body toppled back.

He drifted in freefall a moment, the ship railing rushing away from him at great speed.

Then he hit the water.

It was cold, and water was in his mouth and nose. He pulled at the current, salt and blood in his mouth, his vision nothing but blackness. He reached around him and felt something to his right, he clutched on to it, and felt paws close around his midsection. He winced as the pain his front spasmed, but relief flooded him as he heard Erasmus's voice, the words weak against the water, fire, and wind.

“Breeze, Breeze, Breeze!" The otter repeated, over and over. Breeze fought, kicking in the opposite direction of the burning barge. Thrashing through the water, barely feeling awake as they went. He kept hold of the otter the entire time, the younger man more attuned to swimming and trying to help, but still dazed. Together they thrashed their way free of the barge, following the sound of shouting towards the shoreline.

Breeze didn't know how long they were in the water, but it felt like an eternity. He heard Fenton somewhere, and at some point he was aware of crawling through mud, Erasmus heaving and vomiting to his side. Eventually he collapsed, and slipped into sleep.

When he woke, he was on his back, and the sun was warming his front. He sat up slowly, shirt sticking to his fur. He pulled it up, revealing the stab wound and – more curiously – the makeshift bandage secured around his hips. He examined it, the pain was sharp and angular, but not paralysing. The 'bandage' seemed to be a shirt of some kind, and as Breeze looked around, he let out a short exhale as he saw Erasmus, asleep on his stomach, shirtless. He was breathing, and Breeze felt himself relax slightly.

“You're awake then." Breeze started at the voice, then turned back with a wince and saw Fenton sitting on a rock. The Doberman was bruised and bloody, but otherwise unharmed. “The weasel's okay too, just beaten."

“Did you do this?" Breeze asked, pointing to his 'bandage'. The Doberman shook his head.

“Found you like it." He replied quietly. “I looked you over, you stopped bleedin', so you might live. Can you feel anythin' bleedin' inside?" Breeze shrugged, looking back at the water.

“Abigail." He whispered, remembering Richeleau walking off with the pup in her arms. “She must have overhead Ras and I."

“Whaddya mean by that?" Fenton asked, cocking his head and leaning closer.

“Later." Breeze sighed. His mouth was so dry. He heard Fenton stand with a groan, glancing around the grassy shoreline.

“Well, the fuck do we do now, Breezy-boy?" The dog said, with a whistle.

“That part's easier." Breeze replied with a grunt. He thought about trying to get up, briefly put a little pressure on himself, then thought better of it. “We find the fox, kill her. And take back my fucking kid. We've got two names, and two leads, that's more than enough."